


the city, and insomniacs

by gypsumgreen



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A little, Also fluff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Based on a Tumblr Post, Character Death, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Help, M/M, Pretentious, Slow To Update, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, am i? lmao, every bit of knowledge i have is from mcytblr osmosis, hoo boy will there be angst™, i know nothing about the dream smp, i swear i tried to write fluff my fingers had other ideas, lyrics for titles i have no creativity, no I will not elaborate, no beta we die like the mooshrooms, oh yeah, raised by mooshrooms! george au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29818176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsumgreen/pseuds/gypsumgreen
Summary: Some wonder why mushroom “islands” are called mushroom “fields”. Some wonder why no mobs spawn there, with the exception of the mooshrooms.George does not wonder.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), tentative - Relationship
Kudos: 12





	1. I’m stuck in that same old dream, was it me you hope to live?

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back on their shit again? I have no excuse as to why I'm not updating my other fics lmao but hope y'all enjoy this. 
> 
> Based on [this tumblr post](https://comradegeorge.tumblr.com/post/643915441483464705/comradegeorge-didnt-george-say-he-wanted-to).
> 
> The fic title comes from [Dream Translator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUW2Zwx1HNs) (turn on the subtitles!) while the chapter title is from [Úa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fpogHowjDo).

The vast expanse of spongy-gray mycelium and towering mushrooms were all George could remember from his childhood.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he ended up like this, a human child, all alone, the blue sky above and gray earth below, like he was supposed to be part of the numerous mooshrooms roaming the landscape, dark gray and white and gray and brown, but he never questioned it.

The mooshrooms were family, and that was all that he needed.

* * *

The ocean was rising.

Block by block, bit by bit. There were significantly less mooshrooms left, gone to starvation (for all of its hardiness, the fungi-dirt couldn’t survive in seawater, after all) and the sleeping sickness.

It was gradual at first. A little drowsiness, daytime sleeping, not much - the famine meant that they had to conserve energy. Then came stumbling, appetite loss and long, _long_ hours of sleep.

Perhaps the only mercy was that death came painless and peaceful.

George hadn’t seen any of the undead nor the endermen for quite some time. It came as a relief at first, not having to fend off the nightly attacks, nor having to worry about unintentionally offending endermen, but the silence echoed nowadays, with only the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore to keep company. Mooshroom were scarce now, the sickness gone but the population culled. A few on the neighbouring islands, but none on the one he was on.

His heart ached, the steady splish-splish-splish of the waves mirroring the gentle thump-thump-thump of his heart as he worried at the collar of the shirt he weaved when the fields were still fields and connected to other lands (five years now; it was lucky he stopped growing before the sea started to), clean and worn and blue.

He allowed himself some minutes of silence, the moon and stars bright in the ink-blue night sky, of no particular constellation. The world stood still in that moment.

But there was something approaching on the horizon. It came closer and closer - and George could now make out the figure of a human (much like himself!) on a rowing boat. They wore some sort of yellow garment and a mask, covering most of their face.

They dismounted on the shore not twenty metres away from where George was standing, and it was obvious that the person had noticed him, as they flinched bodily and pulled out a sword of some sort of crystal make, glinting under the moonlight.

George took a step closer.

The figure took a step back.

“Hey, uh… hi,” George waved weakly. 

“Who are you?” they growled, shock tinting their voice as they stepped forward sword-first. The white porcelain mask reflected some of the light the crystal sword refracted, an abstract, unmoving smile upon the person clad in fear.

“I’m George. You?” his hands were shaking. He stuffed them in his pockets. A friend, he reminded himself. A friend, though the sharpened sword pointed at him.

The sword didn’t point at him anymore. Yellow-shirt relaxed, re-scabbadering the sword.

“Call me Dream.”

And they stood in silence for a moment, minds failing words as the moon set, the slight wind picking up, ruffling their hair.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Dream finally spoke up. “Sorry for, uh, pointing my sword at you. It’s become a reflex now, what with all the mobs that come out at night.” He - he? - tilted his head, as if trying to gauge George’s reaction.

“Ah, it’s fine - I’ve never saw you before too, so… well, I was a little surprised there, and- and-” George wrung his hands together, words not forming, “It’s fine, really, and mobs - the hostile ones at least - don’t appear here at all now.”

“Really?” Dream seemed curious, a hand sinking into the mycelium, gathering some up, examining the fibrous spore-roots.

“Yeah. There used to be some, but it’s just me and the mooshrooms now,” he motioned towards the mooshrooms on the nearest island, “it gets quite lonely sometimes, but I manage.”

“Ah,” Dream said, “that makes two of us.”

The rising sun cast its rays on the ocean, blue and bright and shimmering, the sky not quite blue yet but holding the faintest promise of a misty dawn. 

“Where will you go?” George asked. Could he follow? 

“I… still don’t know. Perhaps I’ll build a nation. Do you want to come with me?” 

“Yes.”

* * *

To be entirely honest, none of them knew what they were doing.

It was the first time George had stepped foot outside the mushroom fields for five years, and Dream had only some knowledge of the woods they were currently in.

“Didn’t you say that you had a cabin or something here? There’s just trees,” George asked. The rough oak bark under his fingers - so different to the smooth texture of the giant mushrooms - was unfamiliar, and he rubbed his palm on it.

“I don’t know,” Dream said, his voice filtering through the thick leaves, “the terrain all looks the same to me - oh, there it is!”

George followed the voice, and there, in a shallow valley, was the simple wooden house Dream told him about.

“Ooh. So you weren’t lying after all.”

“What- why would I?” Dream laughed, “Where did you get the impression that I was lying?”

“From the three hours we spent in this forest.” George grinned.

“But I wasn’t, was I?”

“No.”

Maybe they would build a nation together, and maybe the sea wouldn’t rise again.

The forest was no place for the oceans, after all.


	2. Do you want to stay? There's nothing to fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is home, George thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi that the next chapter currently in the works is called "preparing their long way to the war" and that this is a really short filler fluffy chapter. It's straight to angst afterwards.
> 
> Chapter title from [Sing Wood To Silence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1zQ-B4CGUM).

The city grew, block by block, building by building. For George, each had its own meaning, the slabs and stairs that let them need not jump, the vibrant community house (though it was just him and Dream for the moment), the pathway lit up with torches.

This would be home.

And they would spend the nights sitting on one of the benches together, watching the not-constellations move across the sky, the gentle torch light washing over them. And he would think, _ah. I’m in love_ , but never speak of it.

Days and weeks and months, hot chocolate and warm milk sweetened with honey. Warm embraces and comically ugly yet cosy buildings that they laughed at but never pulled down.

This is home, George said one day, and Dream laughed, saying that this had been home all along.

There was another person the other day. He didn’t remember anything much except that his name was Sapnap and that he liked warm, crackling fires. The houses they built from then on always had a fireplace.

Weeks later came brothers, lost in the woods. 

The days passed by, the world spinning, the sun setting and rising and the forest rustling. Bit by bit, round and round, slotting into place, the nation just a little brighter every day.

This is home, George thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! leave a kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed this!


End file.
